


Day 22: Embrace

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), M/M, Soul Bond, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, ineffable valentines 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: Aziraphale throws his arms around Crowley. Crowley flinches at first, then slowly, slowly brings his arms up to return the embrace. As Aziraphale holds him, Crowley thinksdearest friendandsoul bond, and he feels something inside that he is sure is not his heart begin to beat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 2
Kudos: 100





	Day 22: Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> All of the stories in this series are linked together, so if you want a full picture of what exactly is going on, please start with [ Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329).
> 
> Update: All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)   
> 
> 
> If you skipped Day 21 because of the non-con warning, here is the short recap: Not knowing where to find Rick the Playboy photographer, Crowley goes off to the clubs in search of Mick Jagger, hoping he can give them a lead. In the meantime, Mick finds Aziraphale, and thinks 'Zira' is after a one night stand with him. He applies himself rather forcefully, and Aziraphale has to use his heavenly rage to fight him off. Crowley and Aziraphale find Rick, get the negatives, and then have drinks on the beach. Aziraphale tells Crowley that he for his next holiday he would like to go to a nice little cottage on a secluded lake.

February, 1801, London, UK

It’s after dark and Crowley idly wanders the section of the bookshop where a sign reads “Personal Collection - Not For Sale”. His fingers rest gently on the spines as he examines the books. The bookshop sign is turned to Closed and a single lamp lights the front room, casting long shadows. 

“You’ve got a very impressive collection, angel,” Crowley calls. In the back room, he hears Aziraphale fussing with wine glasses and corks. 

“Oh, thank you my dear!” Aziraphale says. Crowley can hear the absolute delight in the angel’s voice. He pictures the beaming smile in his mind. 

He is pretty impressed . . . with Aziraphale himself, actually. The angel has put down roots at last, finally admitted, at least to Heaven, that he intends to have a permanent home here on Earth. Or at least as permanent as it gets. And he did it in London, Crowley’s favorite city. Which works out well because Aziraphale is his favorite person, if he’s being honest. Since he’s a demon, he’s very good at lying. Even to himself. 

“You know, for an angel, you’ve got an awful lot of witchcraft and occult books.”

Aziraphale’s voice calls out from the back room where he is opening the wine. “I’m supposed to be vanquishing evil as well as doing good.” 

Aziraphale walks in from the back of the shop, two glasses of red wine in hand. He hands one to Crowley, who accepts it with a smile. “So this is, what, your opposition research?” Crowley asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Not as such,” Aziraphale says. He sounds a bit . . .  _ nervous _ . 

_ Oh, _ Crowley thinks, with a slow satisfaction.  _ He’s got a secret.  _ Crowley has gotten secrets out of Aziraphale before. The angel can dissemble with the best of them, and is a master at deceiving without outright lying. But Crowley knows how to press and wheedle. He wonders what wonderful embarrassing secret Aziraphale is keeping. He thinks about how long Aziraphale pretended to be scandalized by Moliere, only for Crowley to find out he’d been regularly crossing the channel to see every premiere. Crowley had memorized lines from  _ Tartuffe  _ and  _ The School for Wives  _ solely so he could trot them out at opportune moments to make the angel scowl and blush.  _ This is going to be fun,  _ he thinks. He takes off his sunglasses, puts them in the breast pocket of his jacket. 

“Oh really? So why  _ do _ you have them?” He fixes his gaze directly on the angel, his eyes boring into Aziraphale’s own. He means to get this secret, whatever it is, out before the night is through. 

“I’m a bookseller now.”

“Yes, but this is your personal collection.” He gestures to the small sign. 

“Yes, it is.”

When he says no more, Crowley presses. “So why do you have occult books in your personal collection, if they are not for opposition research?”

“Well, I have a lot of books in my collection,” Aziraphale squeaks. “Do you want to see the Shakespeare Folios? I have _ The Comedy of Errors _ .” He turns his back on Crowley and begins to search the shelves. 

“I’ve seen  _ The Comedy of Errors _ ,” Crowley says mildly, letting Aziraphale think he’s succeeding in distracting him. “You know I like the funny ones.”

Aziraphale sounds pleased. “You do! Did you know they’re going to be putting it on again in a few months?”

_ I told you that last week, _ Crowley thinks. He says, “Oh, really?’

“Yes! Maybe we could go together-- so many people, it would be hard for anyone from either of our sides to pick us out of the crowd.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Ah, here they are!” He reaches up to the top shelf. Crowley takes one step forward, covers Aziraphale’s hand with his own. 

Aziraphale, startled at the touch, pulls away. A bit of wine sloshes over his glass, drips to the floor. “Oh!” Aziraphale pulls out a handkerchief and bends over, soaking up the spilled wine from the hardwood. 

“Angel,” Crowley says. He bends down, reaches out a hand and touches Aziraphale’s chin gently. Aziraphale startles, knocking over his entire glass of wine, his eyes catching Crowley’s. Crowley drops his hand to his side. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“Well, I’m a bit busy now, I’ve spilled my wine.”

Crowley snaps his fingers, and the wine glass rights, all the wine back inside. “Fixed. Now answer my question.” 

“Oh, that’s very ni-- polite of you to clean up the mess.” 

Aziraphale stands, wine glass in hand. “Let’s retire to the back room, shall we? There’s more light back there.” Aziraphale starts to go around Crowley, who blocks him. 

“First, I want an answer to my question.” He takes a step forward, crowding Aziraphale into the bookshelf. 

Aziraphale dithers, shrinks back. “Which question is that? You ask a lot of questions, Crowley. I suppose it’s in your nature, but-”

“Why.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you have books on witchcraft?” 

“I’m a bookseller now.”

“You are not selling these books, Angel, and we both know it.”

There is a long pause. Aziraphale looks at the ground, at the bookshelves, at his full wine glass. Anywhere but at Crowley. Finally he says, in a small voice, “I don’t want to tell you.”

“But I want you to tell me,” Crowley presses. 

“Crowley, it will make you very upset.” 

“What?” he asks. He had expected that it might make  _ Aziraphale  _ upset, but. . . 

“I said, it will make you-”

“I heard you, I just-- what secret are you keeping from me that will upset me?” 

“I don’t want to tell you,” Aziraphale says again. “Please, Crowley, don’t ask me.”

This has gone beyond mere curiosity and the desire to get a little more ammunition to rib his friend. Now Crowley is legitimately concerned. 

“Angel, is it something serious?”

“Yes,” he almost whispers. He sounds. . . Ashamed?

Crowley puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Look, whatever it is, I’ll help you, I promise. Whatever situation you’ve gotten yourself into, I can help. Right? It’s part of our arrangement. Lend a hand when needed?”

Aziraphale seems to crumple a bit. “All right. You- you should know. I haven’t found a way to fix it, even though I’ve tried.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s go sit down.”

Crowley allows Aziraphale to pass and they retire to the back room. 

Crowley sits on the small sofa. Aziraphale sits next to him, staring at his wine glass. 

“Aziraphale-“ Crowley begins, but the angel cuts him off. 

“I made a soul bond.”

Of all the things Crowley is expecting, that was not anywhere near the top 500. “Oh.” He shifts back in his seat, looking at Aziraphale in a new light. “Is that allowed still? Between angels?” 

“No,” Aziraphale says cautiously. 

Make that the top 1000. “I see,” He is not quite sure how this makes him feel. “So, is that . . . that’s the reason for all this, then?” He waves his hand around. “Buying a shop, putting down roots . . .” Crowley thinks first about how he is going to deal with a completely heartbroken Aziraphale in forty or fifty years time, when whatever human he has fallen in love with dies. Then he thinks about the best way to conceal what Aziraphale has done from Heaven. 

“In a way, I suppose,” Aziraphale says. He looks at Crowley very intently. “You’re not-- you’re not angry with me.”

Crowley blinks, considers. “I guess I'm a bit upset that you didn’t tell me beforehand.” He would have liked to meet the human first. Suss out whether whomever it was could be worthy of his favorite angel. He can’t imagine what this person must be like. 

“Oh, but I couldn’t!” Aziraphale wails. He buries his face in his hands. “I didn’t know what I was doing! I didn’t even know what a soul bond was!”

Crowley blows out a breath. “Look, I’m not that uspet about it, all right? I’m sure they are a perfectly lovely human, and you don’t need my permission to do it.” 

Aziraphale looks up at him. “Oh, Crowley. . .” he begins. He reaches a hand out, then thinks better of it. “Crowley, I didn’t bond with a human.”

Crowley goes absolutely still. There’s a roaring in his ears. It sounds like wind rushing past him. “So if it’s not an angel, and it’s not a human. . . that’s not possible.” 

Aziraphale looks miserable. “I assure you, dear boy, it completely is possible.” 

“No, you-- you’re not talking about-”

“The ‘love token’ as you call it.”

“Me?” Crowley says incredulously. None of this is making sense whatsoever. “Aziraphale, you don’t have a soul bond with me. That link we have-- I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a  _ soul bond _ . You can’t possibly have a soul bond with me! I’m a demon! It doesn’t work. All the bonds were cut when we Fell.” 

“‘Were’ may be the operative word, dear boy.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “You may remember that I uhm. . . wasn’t around then? I mean, when you Fell?”

Crowley feels the ground move underneath his feet. The roaring in his ears is louder, deeper. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “But I didn’t-- it’s not a one-way street. You couldn’t have bonded with me without my permission.” 

Aziraphale looks at him very carefully. “I know, and I think-- I think I may have rather taken advantage of your vulnerable state.”

“My  _ what _ ?”

“Crowley, if you recall, you had just Fallen.” 

“I was Fallen, not stupid. I wouldn’t have bonded myself with an angel!”

“Wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale dares him. “You told me about the absence of Her love, Crowley. You told me how it felt, how empty you were, how numb you were. Do you think that, just maybe, in your despair, you might have latched onto something that you may not have thought was a good idea otherwise?”

Crowley opens his mouth, then hesitates. His mind goes back to that meeting on the wall, that kiss he’s replayed in his head a million times. He remembers that gnawing emptiness inside. It felt like a void, a hole that could never be filled. It felt like the sky before God gave him the stars to hang. And then he remembers seeing Aziraphale. He remembers feeling like he wanted to be close to him. So close. As close as possible. How he had thought more of Aziraphale than all of God’s other creations. He remembers thinking that he had to see him again if he wanted to keep his sanity. And the idea of bonding his soul with Aziraphale doesn’t seem so far fetched after all. 

Aziraphale sits back down. “Oh, Crowley, I am so very sorry. I-- All I can do is plead my ignorance to you. I would never have done this to you, would never have taken advantage if I had just known what I was doing at the time.” His eyes are shining with unshed tears. 

Crowley cannot handle this sober. He picks up his wine glass, drains it, then picks up Aziraphale’s and drinks half. Then he miracles over a bottle of Scotch from his rooms across town, unscrews the cap and pours a healthy amount into his wine glass. He takes a large swig. 

“Is that making you feel better?” Aziraphale asks sarcastically. 

“Yes,” Crowley snaps. “Yes, it bloody well is.” He sighs. “How long did you know?” 

Aziraphale looks away, guilty. picks up his half empty wine glass. He mumbles something and then downs the remainder. 

“What?”

“I said . . . maybe . . . 1800 years.”

Crowley gapes at him. “You sneaky bastard. You’ve known about this for 1800 years and you’re just telling me now?” His outrage is palpable. 

“You just said it wasn’t even possible!”

“It’s not possible, but if you knew that it was, I would have liked to know sometime before now! Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I always going to have to weasel it out of you?” 

Aziraphale shifts in his seat. “I didn’t want to tell you because . . . with the books . . . I’ve been trying to find a way to break it.” 

Crowley suddenly feels sick. “You-- you’ve been trying to break our  _ soul bond _ ?”

Aziraphale huffs. “You didn’t even know we were soul bonded until I told you ten minutes ago! Now you’re upset I’m trying to break it?”

Crowley reels from shock. “Aziraphale, this is-- a soul bond is permanent. Breaking it would destroy us completely.” 

“I know. That’s what everything I’ve read says about it, too. But Crowley, we-- we can’t let it go on. What if Heaven finds out? Or Hell?”

“They haven’t found out about the Arrangement, what makes you think they’ll find out about this?” 

Aziraphale pauses. “It’s getting harder and harder to stay away, Crowley. For both of us.” 

Crowley is silent. He is not sure what to say. Not sure what he can say. “The shop is . . .”

Aziraphale nods. “I put down roots here because you are here. And I think . . . all the times we’ve run into each other . . . the times we’ve reached out to each other . . . we try to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible, but it would be safer for both of us if this bond didn’t exist.” Aziraphale reaches a tentative hand out and places it on Crowley’s. “For our safety. For  _ your _ safety.” His eyes are shiny with unshed tears and any residual anger Crowley feels is washed away by Aziraphale’s next statement. “You are my dearest friend, Crowley. My only real friend. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” 

Aziraphale throws his arms around Crowley. Crowley flinches at first, then slowly, slowly brings his arms up to return the embrace. As Aziraphale holds him, Crowley thinks _ dearest friend _ , and  _ soul bond _ , and he feels something inside that he is sure is not his heart begin to beat. 

1861 

Crowley hasn’t seen Aziraphale in almost six months, he’s been busy traveling to America to perform some temptations (and a few blessings). He and Aziraphale have been extra cautious. He only enters the bookshop from the back door. They never dine in public anymore, or share a pint. Neither of their reports to head office mention the other’s existence. As far as Heaven and Hell know, they are absolute strangers to each other. 

But Crowley is concerned. 

So he writes down “Holy water” on the scrap of paper and tucks it into his breast pocket before heading for St. James’s Park. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos!


End file.
